


like it's gold (you're a prophet)

by timelxrd



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Strap-Ons, telepathic dildo, thasmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25868851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/pseuds/timelxrd
Summary: The instant she touches a hand to her waist and winds it around her stomach, the Doctor starts with a gasp.Turning her head over her shoulder with oil dusting the slope of her jaw, the Doctor’s expression relaxes. “Oh. Hiya, Yaz. Shouldn’t you be recharging? No — wait, sleeping. That’s it. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86





	like it's gold (you're a prophet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freefallvertigo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freefallvertigo/gifts).



> happy belated birthday dylan!!!! hope u enjoy and most importantly feel called out mate <3
> 
> also this is not proofread as usual so if there's any mistakes please dont attack !! im sensitive !!

The Doctor is elbow-deep in silver coils and mechanical parts on the adjacent side of the console when Yaz finds her. 

Sonic held between pearly whites Yaz would rather have grazing her neck, her girlfriend carries a seemingly one-sided conversation with her charismatic ship all the while absolutely oblivious to Yaz’s approaching form. 

A spark hides the Doctor’s form for a split second and a yelp drags her hand from the inner workings of the TARDIS. 

The Doctor’s following pout forces Yaz to quell a snicker. 

“What was that for?” she huffs into the domed ceilings above their heads, after slipping her sonic back into her pocket. A low whirr scrunches her brows and she squints into the low-light of the surrounding room. “What do you mean, _I’ve missed something_? Think you’re losing it in your old age, mate.” 

Another fizzle and a flash of light. 

“ _Ow!_ ”

Yaz steps between the shadows cast by crystallised pillars to inch up behind her. 

“Honestly, you’d _think_ you’d be more grateful for this,” the Doctor laments, exasperated. When she rolls her sleeves up, clad only in her white undershirt, Yaz swallows back a sigh of approval. “These wires are a state. Don’t know who organised this.”

A series of beeps which sound suspiciously like laughter echo in the room. Her girlfriend’s head lifts once more, her pointed glare silencing the sentient ship in seconds. “Shut up.”

When the Doctor pitches forward again, navy trousers hugging the curve of her backside and arms delving past the console, Yaz takes her chance. 

The instant she touches a hand to her waist and winds it around her stomach, the Doctor starts with a gasp. 

Turning her head over her shoulder with oil dusting the slope of her jaw, the Doctor’s expression relaxes. “Oh. Hiya, Yaz. Shouldn’t you be recharging? No — wait, sleeping. That’s it. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Yaz winds her arms tighter, warm palms spanning her girlfriend’s lightly toned stomach. She hooks her chin over her shoulder and hums. “Couldn’t settle.”

When the Doctor nods, seemingly returning to her task in amidst Yaz’s koala-like hold, the younger woman sighs petulantly. “That gonna take a while?”

“Her geo-feudal system is off the brink again, Yaz,” the Doctor explains as though Yaz has any idea what she’s talking about. Yaz doesn’t, so she noses at the shorter baby hairs decorating the back of her neck and breathes in a mix of engine oil and her own coconut shampoo — the _thief_. “I’ve already tried using peanut butter.”

Passing off the last comment, Yaz squeezes in an attention-seeking manner. Sometimes she feels like the Doctor would rather potter around the console all day rather than potter around with Yaz’s… 

Let’s just say; it’s been a while, and Yaz’s patience is thinning. 

“Come to bed?” 

The Doctor eyes Yaz over her shoulder, lips pursed in a mix of puzzlement and stubbornness. “But I’m not tired?”

Yaz blinks. “No, I mean —” 

“Promise, Yaz. I took a power nap three days ago. I’m good to go,” the Doctor insists, twisting back to the console and reaching for the nearest wire. Sonic retrieved, she gets back to work. 

“Doctor,” Yaz sighs, trying and failing to hide the pleading note to her tone. “Are you being oblivious on purpose?”

“Oblivious?” the Doctor’s voice is distracted and bordering on smug. Yaz takes a step closer, eyes on the rounded backside raised just shy of her own hips. “Not that I know of.”

Hands slinking down, Yaz’s palms curl around her girlfriend’s braces. 

The Doctor is the one to close the gap between them, much to her surprise. Straightening up, the alien leans back into her, hips flush. 

Yaz’s chin hooks over her shoulder and she grazes dry lips against her throat, earning a quiet hitch of breath. “ _Now_ will you come to bed?” 

“Well,” the Doctor starts, blindly settling her sonic down on the console and turning smoothly within her hold. “When you put it _that_ way…” 

Yaz presses their smiling mouths together before she can think better of it and the Doctor’s responding sigh flirts with her eager tongue. 

In a flit of motion, Yaz slides a hand around the back of her neck and the other into her hair to guide the push and pull of working mouths and fluid tongues. 

She only takes note of the Doctor’s wandering hands when a palm finds the curve of her backside and squeezes, lacey briefs leaving her girlfriend’s favourite asset (pun very intended) mostly bare. 

“ _Yaz_ ,” the Doctor gasps for her troubles, peeling away just to skim smouldering eyes over Yaz’s attire; a skimpy satin cami and deep rouge underwear. The cool temperature of the room exposes hardening peaks and the Doctor drinks her in like fine wine. 

A curious hand squeezes once more and Yaz moulds into her form with a purr. “Thought you’d like those,” Yaz returns, offering up a sure tug to the Doctor’s hair once she’s ogled at her enough. 

With a pleased growl, the Doctor greets her lips again. 

Thanks to Yaz’s bold approach, it doesn’t take long for the eager alien to clear her mind of anything but Yaz and take charge of their pursual. With a hand at her lower back, she switches their positions until the cool metal console meets the backs of Yaz’s thighs and she can press forward with needy hips and a moan laced in debauchery. 

The Doctor meets her gaze as she drags Yaz’s bottom lip between her teeth and sucks, pupils set ablaze. Perhaps Yaz should’ve prompted this sooner; perhaps they’re both just as desperate to burn and crash in a mess of limbs as each other. 

When the older woman lifts a hand between them to grope at her breast over bronze satin like a horny teenager, however, Yaz’s thoughts fall into disarray. 

“It’s been too long, Yaz,” the Doctor rasps once she’s lathered the flesh in enough attention to make it swollen and pink. She ducks her head to mouth at Yaz’s throat, next, while a dexterous thumb catches and circles a sensitive nipple through the material of her top. “Why’s it been so long?”

“You — _ah_ —” Yaz’s breath catches then unravels into a moan when the Doctor bites down suddenly, teeth and tongue working in companionship against the base of her throat. “You and your repairs. You’re always… _tinkering_.” 

The Doctor catches her gaze, green eyes lined with something akin to guilt. Her lips are wet when she smirks and Yaz succumbs to flashes of the same pink, swollen flesh dampened by something else entirely. Her hips shift and the Doctor sighs her approval from her position between her legs. “Guess it’s time I tried tinkering with something else, huh?” 

“Never say that again,” Yaz pleads, grimacing. 

The Doctor huffs a laugh. “Telling me what to do?” she asks, a hand rising to pinch Yaz’s chin between her fingers. Her thumb edges up towards her mouth and she flits her tongue over her bottom lip, her desire evident in the wanton knit of her brow. “I thought I was the one in charge here.” 

Yaz indulges her with a swirling tongue when the Doctor’s thumb mounts her bottom lip and eases into her mouth. She sucks reverently in apology and her girlfriend’s eyes darken tenfold. “Sorry, babe.” 

Sliding her hand around from her breast down to the hem of her top, the Doctor bypasses the material to cop a feel of the warm skin beneath, a sure thumb navigating to a pebbled nipple with expert accuracy. 

“Speaking of toys, though,” she starts, tongue breezing over the red mark gracing her throat. It stings as it cools but Yaz can’t deny how much she loves being branded with the Doctor’s ownership. Green irises flitting south to eye the narrow space between their hips before they lift once more to bore into Yaz’s, the Doctor asks, “D’you fancy trying something new?” 

Yaz saves no room for debate when the Doctor looks at her like that; gloriously dishevelled, ruddy and breathless. She’s like a mad scientist on the verge of a breakthrough and Yaz is her noble volunteer; her willing victim. “Always.”

“Good,” the Doctor emits, and Yaz _thrives_ on it, swallowing hard. Tilting her head, the blonde takes note of her reaction with the curiosity of a shark toying with its bait. “Good girl.”

A shaky exhale and a whimper later, Yaz’s cheeks burn. 

“Interesting.” The Doctor thinks aloud. She drops both hands to Yaz’s thighs and squeezes, drinking her in afresh as though she can’t bring herself to draw away. “Bedroom. I’ll be there in two minutes.” 

Yaz smirks, heat swelling in her gut like Vesuvius antes its mighty eruption. “Thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

Cool navy sheets ghost cooly against her skin when, fully bared to the room, Yaz awaits the Doctor’s arrival. 

She’s thinking of starting without her girlfriend when her two minutes is almost up. Indeed, just as she skirts a hand down her chest to circle a hardened bud, steady footsteps approach the door.

Hastily, she swipes her hand away and instead props herself up on her elbows, leaning back. 

The Doctor approves of her display if her muted gasp of surprise is anything to go by, hungry eyes unable to settle between the apex of her tan thighs, her arched chest or the identically darkened irises further north. 

Still dressed in her blue trousers and white top, the braces hanging loosely at her hips are the only indication she’s been up to anything at all. 

“Hi,” Yaz breathes, lashes fluttering. 

When she uncrosses her legs at the ankles and lifts a knee to plant a bare foot against the silk sheets, the Doctor bites down on her bottom lip and swallows audibly. 

In the corner of her vision, she spots the alien adjusting her trousers and baulks at the insinuation that she’s wearing something beneath. 

Before she can think more on the subject, however, the Doctor climbs onto the bed at her feet and lifts a toned leg. Her gaze resettles on her faintly heaving chest as she presses her lips to a smooth shin and trails her affections toward her knee. 

“You are _divine_ , Yasmin,” she hums low in her throat, tongue breezing across the inside of her knee while Yaz shudders in anticipation. “Have I told you that before?”

Eyes mapping out her path in the hope of predicting her next move, Yaz squirms. “Couple hundred times, yeah. Wouldn’t mind hearing it again, though.”

“Yasmin Khan, you are divine,” the Doctor repeats. Positioned on her stomach between her legs, she ravishes her inner thigh with lips and teeth and tongue, burning a trail north until Yaz has to grip the sheets in rigid premonition. 

Smirking, the Doctor pulls back to begin a new quest along her neglected leg. 

Yaz’s groan of frustration is cut short by a biting pressure against the toned flesh just above her knee. Winding a hand through blonde locks, she hisses out a curse and parts her thighs in request. “Higher, please.”

“All in good time,” the Doctor gloats, smirking mouth ghosting kisses over the deep red mark she’s left behind before she shuffles up the bed, purposely avoiding the thrumming pulse at her core.

When she slots a leg between Yaz’s own and straddles her thigh, Yaz’s hips squirm with pressure of an entirely different kind. She glances between them with wide eyes to seek out the noticeable bulge pressed against her and catches on the Doctor’s curious, questioning gaze on the way back up. “Are you packing, babe?”

The Doctor’s response sticks to her tongue when Yaz offers a teasing roll of her hips, the appendage nudging at the space between her thighs through the blue material and sending a shock of electricity down her spine. Her girlfriend’s resultant grunt confuses her for a long few seconds of held eye contact before something clicks in the back of her mind. 

Her girlfriend’s warming cheeks suggest she’s right in her assumption. 

“Wait,” Yaz rasps, the burning between her legs provoked freshly aflame. She slips a hand between the length of their bodies to grace the tented material with her fingers all the while taking note of the Doctor’s hard swallow and restrained groan. “Can you _feel_ this one?”

“ _Fuck_ , Yaz,” the Doctor whimpers. 

She _never_ curses, so she must be correct. 

Arousal eating away at her restraint, Yaz strokes her hand against the shape of her until she can work out the full size; girthy, but otherwise the same as they usually work with. 

The Doctor, meanwhile, seems absolutely in thrall, green eyes closed and forehead buried against her shoulder while she twitches into her hold. “ _God,_ that’s good. Didn’t think it would be so — _ah_ — so sensitive.”

“Yeah?” Yaz poses, finding the head and brushing her thumb firmly against the fabric. The Doctor positively _growls_ and another surge of heat floods to the apex of her thighs. 

When the artificial length starts to harden beneath her touch, Yaz can’t help but tighten her hold and speed up the motions of her hand. 

At the same time, though still mostly out of her senses, the Doctor ducks her head to mouth at a full breast, hips rocking smoothly into her touch. “ _Gods_.” 

“It’s Yaz, actually, but that’s a fair conclusion,” Yaz murmurs smugly, arching her chest into wanton lips and tongue. Her brass tone grants her a brush of teeth against her nipple, however, and she wilts back into the sheets with a whimper. 

While she continues rutting against her hand like a horny teenage boy, Yaz takes in the Doctor’s pinched brows and trembling jaw in avid interest, each shaky gasp and strangled moan stoking the blazing forest fire setting up home in her gut. 

The Doctor’s cheek falls against her breast a short while later, panting breaths breezing over the reddened nub while her rolling hips turn clumsy and out of coordination. “ _Yaz_ , if you keep this up, I’m gonna…” she keens hoarsely, her movements needy. 

Incentivised, Yaz squeezes at the base before speeding up once more. Cupping her cheek with her free hand to tuck her hair away from her eyes and brush her thumb along the lines gracing her forehead, she whispers, “I want you to.”

“Fuck, oh, _fuck_ , Yaz,” the Doctor growls, clinging to the sheets either side of her head and capturing her lips to allow Yaz the honour of swallowing back her moans. Her hips jerk clumsily until she stiffens with a drawn-out gasp, then slumps against her like a dead weight. “Oh, my Gods.”

Breathless with effort, Yaz nips at the Doctor’s bottom lip once she’s reached the tail end of her orgasm, garnering her blissful attention in an instant. Hazy eyes flit between her own and the blonde’s face flushes in sheepish embarrassment. “That good, huh?”

“Always, Yaz,” the Doctor husks, hips giving a curious twitch against Yaz’s still present palm. “You never fail to surprise me.”

While Yaz peels her hand back to curl around the Doctor’s hip instead, her girlfriend moulds her lips to her throat, tongue swirling against her mostly steady pulse. 

“You’re always so good, Yaz,” she purrs against the shell of her ear a moment later before dragging the tan flesh between her teeth and tugging. “You always treat me so well.”

“Doctor.” Yaz’s chest flares, the closest sun enveloping her in its grasp and holding her captive. In this instance, the Doctor is not there to save her. She’s on a collision course to a ball of fire in the sky with solely her pride as bountiful trade. 

The Doctor swirls her tongue in the path of her name behind her ear while deft fingers find a dusky nipple and prompt it to rise. Her hips press forward in suggestion, the toy already half-erect again and catching the hooded flesh of her clit through her trousers. “Do you think you deserve a reward?” 

“Yes,” Yaz hisses, yearning for more contact. 

The Doctor pulls back to kneel up before her, trousers leaving nothing to the imagination. “Help me out of these, would ya? They’re getting a bit uncomfortable, not gonna lie.”

“Probably because you came in your pants a minute ago, babe,” Yaz teases, sitting up. She reaches between them for the Doctor’s fly and, licking her lips with purposeful intent, she drags the zipper down. 

The Doctor’s embarrassment clings to her tone despite the control she so desires. “You told me — Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.” Yaz’s smirk is thwarted with mischief and the Doctor can _never_ step down from a challenge. 

With that, the Doctor launches forward to collide with her lips. At the same time, talented fingers glide along her thigh to meet the junction of her hips and seek the heat burning there. 

From their kneeling positions, Yaz can easily part her legs and drag the other woman into her space, hands sweeping through blonde locks to tug and guide their kiss in the Doctor’s avid approval. The fingers exploring sodden flesh slip over her clit in a messy effort to take charge. 

“Gods,” the Doctor growls into her mouth, forefinger sinking through her folds like a knife through butter and curling to gather up more swelling heat. The sounds her ministrations conduct are wet and obscene but Yaz can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed; the Doctor is the most attractive woman she’s ever set eyes on and she knows fully well her effect on Yaz.

It doesn’t stop the Doctor from pulling away to study the arousal coating her fingertips in open amazement, though, as always — how she is so surprised by Yaz’s reaction every time she has no idea. “You’re soaked,” she sighs, awed. 

“Y’really surprised?” Yaz replies, prompting a glorious blush to the Doctor’s cheeks. “Now are you going to finally get out of those trousers and fuck me, or are y’gonna come in your pants again?”

In favour of entertaining her with a reply, the Doctor cleans her fingers off with sure laps of her tongue and leans up to shuck her trousers down her hips. 

“Let me,” Yaz interjects when she struggles, nudging her back against the bed and dragging the pesky material over her lithe hips and toned thighs. She follows with the weathered pair of blue and white striped boxers until her girlfriend is down to her undershirt and sports bra. 

Her remaining clothes go unnoticed, however, when Yaz is finally exposed to the surprisingly realistic toy strapped to the Doctor’s crotch, its colour a perfect match to the Doctor’s pale skin. 

“See something you like?” the Doctor quips cheekily, curling her fingers around the hem of her top and drawing it over her head, swiftly followed by her bra. 

Once she’s unhindered by clothing, Yaz can only watch as her girlfriend closes a hand around the fake phallus and gives a few swift tugs as though she’s done it hundreds of times before. It has to be one of the hottest things Yaz has ever witnessed. 

Together with the Doctor’s swagger, the roguish smirk on her lips is catalogued into the gallery behind Yaz’s eyes for nights spent alone and aching. 

“Lie back,” the Doctor instructs when Yaz simply watches on, enrapt. 

Fidgety with impatience and anticipation, Yaz drops back against lavish sheets and allows the Doctor to crawl over her form like a big cat deciding what to do with its prey; how best to wield her power and her strength; where to aim her first blow. 

“Are you ready—”

“Yes,” Yaz answers plainly, reaching for the Doctor’s hips. “Please.”

Parting Yaz’s thighs with a cool palm, the Doctor bumps the toy over Yaz’s clit before gathering up the ever-flowing moisture gathered before her entrance. Her eyes roll with the new sensations and Yaz finds herself even more infatuated with the pleasured furrow of her brows. “Please what?”

“ _God_ ,” Yaz groans, hips rising from the bed to chase the hardened length. “Please just fuck me. I can’t wait any longer.” 

Stifling a growl, the Doctor pitches forward on one arm and uses the other to line herself up with Yaz’s scorching heat. She lifts her eyes once she’s level, the head of the toy nudging into welcome, dizzying depths while she seeks out Yaz’s approval. “Fuck. Oh, _shit_ , Yaz, you’re so tight.”

Yaz’s eyes roll back in her head at the same time as the Doctor groans low and throaty into the room, thighs immediately hitching over her hips and heels digging into her backside to encourage her further. 

“You feel so good,” the Doctor keens as she bottoms out. She curls her hands into the pillow either side of Yaz’s head to steady herself and Yaz openly admires the way her biceps flex and tense. “This okay?”

In the dimmed-down version of reality she’s been granted by the Doctor’s steady hips and the pulsing toy buried inside her, Yaz curls her arms around the backs of her shoulders and grips at the firm muscles she finds there. “More than okay. Should be me asking you that, really. Reckon you’re gonna last longer this time, babe?”

In revenge for her teasing words, the Doctor snaps her hips back in a swift movement until she’s brushing at damp folds once more, before plunging back to the hilt quick enough for Yaz to cry out. “Don’t underestimate me, Yasmin Khan.”

If she was hoping to prove a point, it stands rectified in minutes. 

Setting up a series of deep, unyielding, practised thrusts, the Doctor licks a line down Yaz’s throat to her shoulder, where she sucks at the firm muscle. 

“More,” Yaz gasps, arching her back when her girlfriend navigates to a spot inside her which leaves her nerves tingling right down to her curled toes. 

Taking notice, the Doctor aims for the same sensitive bundle with each quickening jolt of her hips and pearly whites sink into the skin of Yaz’s shoulder, savage in their quest for Yaz’s pleasure. 

“I feel so full,” Yaz sighs while her girlfriend keeps up her efforts with superhuman stamina. She shouldn’t be surprised, really, what with the Doctor’s genetics and her constant supply of frantic energy. “I love having you inside me.”

The Doctor’s respondent buck of her hips and the guttural groan which falls against Yaz’s shoulder forces more arousal to coat the appendage inside her and the louder, more visceral sound of their bodies colliding to embrace the room. “Oh, yeah? You like that?”

Yaz moans her agreement, grappling hands finding purchase on her backside and driving her deeper past torrid walls. 

“You take me so well, Yaz,” the Doctor gasps, clipped nails digging into Yaz’s thigh when she grips at it for her leverage. She suddenly pulls herself up and drags Yaz’s hips forward, her own moving like pistons in an effort to seemingly deprive Yaz of any other sensation but pure pleasure. “ _Fuck_ , I’m already so close.” 

With nothing left to grasp at, Yaz clutches the sheets between her fingers and rolls her hips in countenance to every other thrust in order to give just as good as she takes. “Keep going, babe. Please don’t stop.”

When the Doctor pauses again, appearing to lack the right angle, Yaz groans in frustration. “No, _no_ , don’t stop. What are you —” 

Slipping free with a sound Yaz would usually be embarrassed hearing, the Doctor scrambles off the bed with flushed cheeks and a heaving chest. If she weren’t so dizzy with need, Yaz would be more worried about her jellied knees. “Come here.”

Weak to the Doctor’s commands and the steely look in stormy eyes, Yaz heaves herself from the sweaty, messy sheets and pads around to the end of the bed. 

After an ardent kiss is pressed against her swollen lips, Yaz is turned around with impatient, groping hands. “Bend over. Keep your hips up.” 

The instant she bows over the queen-size mattress, backside in the air and hands clenched around her blue pillow, the Doctor seizes her waist and drives back into her with spectacular ease. 

Yaz meets her every plunge and pound and jerk with a flourish of moans and gasps, the new angle alongside the Doctor’s perfect rhythm providing each bundle of nerves inside her some much-needed attention. 

She’s about to slump forward and allow the Doctor to ravage her at break-neck speed until she no longer remembers her own name when a hand comes down against her backside with a resounding _clap_. 

The shock of the move has no competition to the way it makes her nerves sing with gratification and, before she knows it, Yaz is clenching around the toy’s thick girth and crying out against the material gripped like a vice in her arms. “Oh, _fuck_ , I’m close. Doctor, I’m so close.”

Again, and with no mercy, the Doctor claps a burning palm against her ass before twin thumbs burn bruises into her hips and she sets up an unrelenting, desperate pace. 

“Hold it,” the Doctor grits out through bared teeth, ducking her head briefly to drag her tongue up in a line between Yaz’s shoulder blades. 

“Doctor, I _can’t_.” 

“Say please,” the Doctor growls into the slope of her ear, the toy pounding through swollen flesh without fault. 

Yaz can tell she’s close by the way the Doctor grunts with every clumsy, uncoordinated roll of Yaz’s hips back into her unending ministrations, so it’s easy to clench sore muscles around the smooth silicone and leave the alien reeling at her heels. 

Nevertheless, her own climax is on the verge of taking over, so with a thick groan, Yaz pleads with the devil for sweet mercy. “Please, Doctor. I need to come. Please let me come.”

Her assaults growing clumsy and unrestrained, the Doctor heaves for oxygen against the back of her neck and finally, valiantly rewards her with deft fingers against her clit. “Then come, Yasmin. Be a good girl and come for me.”

A handful more thrusts and firm pressure against her hooded flesh later, Yaz loses track of space and time amidst the Doctor’s own moans and the still-rutting appendage buried to the hilt inside her. Stars dust her vision like the glow in the dark ones tacked to her bedroom ceiling at home and darkness pricks at the edges as though coaxing her into blissful unawareness for the rest of her days. 

Sudden wakefulness hits her like a freight train and, blinking through a fog, Yaz comes around again wrapped up in strong arms and resting against a rapidly rising and falling, oxygen-starved chest. 

“Hiya,” a croaky voice rumbles from the caging ribs below her head and, limbs like lead, Yaz determines the source as her girlfriend and the telling ache between her thighs as reality. “Thought I’d broken you for a minute there.”

“Think you might’ve,” Yaz rasps breathlessly, lifting her head only to let her forehead come to rest against the Doctor’s, clammy skin against clammy skin. “Y’sure that weren’t a really good dream?” 

The Doctor’s laugh is infectious and Yaz is weak to its siren-call. Calloused fingers tuck a lock of dark, sweaty hair from her face and Yaz’s lashes flutter. “Pretty sure, yeah. But I’ll definitely be coming back to this memory in the future.”

“You and me both, babe,” Yaz admits, warmth flooding to her cheeks. She winds an arm around her girlfriend’s slim waist and seeks out her pulse with her nose. “That was amazing, thank you.”

“Thank _you_ , Yaz. Y’were brilliant. You _are_ brilliant. The universe is very lucky to have you.”

With a barely concealed scoff and a lack of hesitation which makes the Doctor frown against the crown of her head, Yaz refutes her remark. “Don’t be silly. I’m just a human.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Yaz. There’s no _just_ about you,” the Doctor argues plainly, tucking two fingers beneath her chin and raising Yaz’s gaze. 

“Can’t have a universe with no Yaz, can we?”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> come and find me on twitter: @/sapphichaos or tumblr: i-hate-empty-pockets if you have any prompts/would like to scream about thasmin <3


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